But the eagle repairs to the lofty rock;
Serene are the skies where she plumeth her
And I too would build where no tempests can
I would build in the land of perpetual spring.
DESTROYED BY A LITTLE BOY.
O CRUEL !—could thy infant bosom find
No pleasure but in others' misery?
Come, let me tear thee from thy parents' arms,
As thou hast torn these half-fledged innocents,
And dash thee naked to the cold, bare stones,
All in thy tender mother's aching sight.—
But thou art young, and know'st not yet the cares,
The pangs, the feelings of an anxious parent;
Else would thy heart, by sad experience taught,
Weep o'er the little ruin'd family,
And mourn the ill thy cruel hand has done.
A GREEN and silent spot amid the hills!
A small and silent dell!-O'er stiller place
No Singing Skylark ever poised himself!
The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope
Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on,
All golden with the never-bloomless furze,
Which now blooms most profusely: but the dell,
Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate
As vernal cornfield, or the unripe flax,
When, through its half-transparent stalks, at eve,
The level sunshine glimmers with green light.
Oh! 't is a quiet, spirit-healing nook,
Which all, methinks, would love; but chiefly he,
The humble man, who in his youthful years
Knew just as much of folly as had made
His early manhood more securely wise ;-
Here he might lie on fern or wither'd heath,
While from the Singing Lark-that sings unseen
The minstrelsy which solitude loves best-
And from the sun, and from the breezy air,
Sweet influences trembled o'er his frame;
And he, with many feelings, many thoughts,
Made up a meditative joy, and found
Religious meanings in the forms of Nature!
And so, his senses gradually wrapp'd
In a half-sleep, he dreams of better worlds;
And dreaming, hears thee still, O Singing Lark!
That singest like an angel in the clouds.
WHY o'er the smooth and glassy wave
Does yonder Halcyon speed so fast?
"T is all because she would not lose
Her favourite calm, that will not last.
The sun with azure paints the skies,
The stream reflects each flowery spray,
And, frugal of her time, she flies
To take her fill of joy and play.
See her, when rude the north-wind blows,
Warm in some rocky cell remain ;
To seek for pleasure, well she knows,
Would only then enhance the pain.
Descend," she cries, "thou hated shower, Deform my crystal waves to-day,
For I have chose a fairer hour
To take my fill of joy and play."
LITTLE flutterer! swiftly flying,
There is none to harm thee near;
Kite, nor hawk, nor school-boy prying;
Little flutterer! cease to fear.
One who would protect thee ever,
From the school-boy, kite, and hawk,
Musing, now obtrudes, but never
Dreamt of plunder in his walk.
He no weasel stealing slyly,
Would permit thy eggs to take;
Not the pole-cat, nor the wily
Adder, nor the writhed snake.
May no cuckoo, wandering near thee,
Lay her egg within thy nest;
Nor thy young ones, born to cheer thee,
Be destroy'd by such a guest.
Little flutterer! swiftly flying,
Here is none to harm thee near; Kite, nor hawk, nor school-boy prying, Little flutterer! cease to fear.
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